I’ve been afraid to be my usual ridiculous self this month. This is painful for me because you have certain expectations from this blog. You take comfort in knowing I will be a) gorging myself on a fatty chocolate treat, b) vacationing in sin with my pretend lover in Charleston or c) living as a hobo. I’m often doing all three at once while riding the light rail in Wonder Woman underwear.
You can blame the Republican politcos in Raleigh for putting me in a funk. All this talk about enslaving my uterus at North Carolina General Assembly meetings has worn me out. Sen. Angela Bryant coined that phrase when she spoke out against House Bill 695 on July 3, which unfortunately passed 29-12 and returned to the state house for a concurrence vote.
Sen. Bryant made me think of my lady oven as the Tauntaun Luke Skywalker rode on the ice planet of Hoth in Star Wars. Maybe it was the two horns on both sides of its face that were like pointy ovaries or the strap that controlled the beast’s face reminded me of a maxi pad. Either way, I shouldn’t describe my uterus as an oven and ice creature. Hot or cold. Can’t be both.
Then came Senate Bill 353 that was supposed to be about motorcycle safety but added abortion restrictions that mirrored those in HB 695. I read countless tweets with hashtags like #motorcyclevagina. This bill passed 32-12 on July 25. Governor Pat McCrory will either sign the bill into law, veto it (which he should since he promised not to pass any new abortion restrictions), or if he doesn’t sign it within 10 days, it becomes law anyway. That’s like saying if I leave my outstanding power bill on my kitchen table long enough, it will eventually get paid.
This fight for women’s healthcare access has made me sad about the state of reproductive rights in NC. I can’t believe a bill disguised as a way to make abortion clinics safer is really meant to shut down all but one clinic near Asheville. It’s subterfuge on the part of the Republicans, who keep harping on the banning of sex selection as a solid provision in the bill. That is not a valid concern in North Carolina. It’s a red herring.
So yes, this has put a damper on the wild adventures I need to share with you. I want to tell you how much chocolate chip cookie dough fudge I ate on my summer trip to Virginia Beach. My sensual threesome with a crabcake sandwich and key lime pie at Waterman’s Surfside Grill when my pretend lover wasn’t around. I need to reintroduce you to the me you love inappropriately and often.
I might feel better tomorrow: The Assembly ends its session on Friday, July 26. Plus, I just figured out my Anthony Weiner/Carlos Danger sexting name. Jose Enrique Stealth has a nice ring to it, or should I say a tan line of where a wedding band should be. First on my sext list is McCrory. I’m going to call him Patty Cake and tell him to take out all his veto power on me — and a certain bill.